


Ignite

by sciencefictioness



Series: Legacy [21]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Collars, Dom Jesse, Doms Being Dicks, Fist Fights, It's Okay Hanzo Has It Covered, Kneeling, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions of dissociation, Not Jesse Though, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sub Hanzo, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:41:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24711787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/pseuds/sciencefictioness
Summary: This close Hanzo could smell liquor on them, the sharp bite of cheap vodka.  Too much cologne.  Stale cigarettes.“Get your hands off me.”One of them touched Hanzo’s face, running a finger over his bottom lip, nudging roughly at his piercing.“We just got our hands on you, sweetheart.  Don’t be like that.”Hanzo wasn’t this man’s sweetheart.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Series: Legacy [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/799938
Comments: 14
Kudos: 277





	Ignite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CorvidFightClub](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorvidFightClub/gifts).



> Originally written for corvid <3 now out into the world.

The sounds of the club had faded into background noise a long time ago, faraway music and distant voices. His eyes were open but only just— heavy lidded, unfocused. The lights were dimmed, the familiar indigo shifting around them, making everything dreamlike.

Then again Hanzo had been drifting for a while now.

Anything would be dreamlike when he was floating this way, kneeling between Jesse’s feet on the thick cushion they kept stowed away in the demo prep room, Jesse tracing the lines of his jaw with calloused fingers. Hanzo had his arms around Jesse’s waist, head laid against his stomach where he was slouching on one of Overwatch’s leather couches. 

Every now and then Jesse’s hand slipped down to Hanzo’s collar, thumb dragging across the leather where it met his throat. He’d fall asleep if he wasn’t careful, lulled by Jesse’s hands, his voice. Hanzo wasn’t following the meaning of the words, but the cadence was there, the low drawl making him unwind.

Once upon a time he would have felt exposed like this— kneeling in the middle of a kink club party in nothing but his collar and boots and jeans, a bulldog harness stretched across his chest. There was a heavy O-ring situated high on each pectoral connecting the straps, with a D-ring in the center, gunmetal blue rivets inset in the leather. Something Jesse had picked out for him; measured him for, and customized, made to order just for Hanzo.

Something he put on Hanzo each time, buckling the straps into place between Hanzo’s shoulder blades, running his palms over it approvingly.

_ Look at you. Gorgeous. _

It had taken ages to get there, but Hanzo believed him.

When they first got together he would have felt embarrassed, or awkward, or uncomfortable. Not self-conscious about the way he looked, so much as being seen in such an intimate position; by strangers, by friends. Hanzo wasn’t embarrassed anymore.

There wasn’t room for that with Jesse taking up all the empty space around him, and against him, and inside him. 

Hanzo could just exist for a while, even where everyone could see, and Jesse had everything else covered.

The party was well under way, Overwatch packed to the gills for a charity event Ana was hosting. There were demonstrations happening on stage all night, raffles for bondage gear, stations set up so people could learn about new things; impact play, electric toys, basic rope work.

Jesse had opted out of doing a ropes demonstration that evening— a lot of Doms tended to use big events as an excuse to show off. Their best gear, their favorite tricks.

Or, in Jesse’s case, Hanzo. 

Hanzo in his collar and harness, muscled and pliant at Jesse’s feet. Tattooed, pierced, eyeliner on thick and nails painted with Amélie’s expert precision.

_ Prettiest thing here, darlin’,  _ and Hanzo didn’t know about that, but he didn’t mind being on display for Jesse anymore. They’d been coming to the club long enough that all the regulars knew him, just like they’d always known Jesse. Hanzo got friendly nods and genuine pleasantries,  _ how’s work treating you, any new ink, where’s that cowboy of yours? _

It wasn’t always simple hospitality; more than a few Doms had propositioned Jesse about Hanzo. Asked about doing a scene with the two of them.

Asked about doing a scene with just Hanzo. Jesse handled it with grace as long as they were respectful,  _ thanks but no thanks, I ain’t so good at sharin’.  _ Hanzo tried to be polite but he had a hard time controlling his facial expressions at the best of times, and some stranger trying to get him into bed was enough to make him sneer. The first time it happened Hanzo had been horrified at the prospect; terrified Jesse might want something more, someone more, but Hanzo had learned. 

It was common enough now that he didn’t even bat an eye. The regulars knew better, respected Hanzo and Jesse’s relationship, but events tended to bring in unfamiliar faces who were willing to take a chance. Jesse had turned two Doms away already over the course of the evening. They barely registered on Hanzo’s radar— a pair of unfamiliar voices in the hazy din of conversation, Jesse laying a hand possessively over Hanzo’s collar. Jesse’s voice, courteous but firm,  _ that’s gonna be a no, friend. No hard feelings. _

Hanzo wasn’t sure what happened then, but he felt Jesse tense underneath him. Felt Jesse’s fingers curl around his collar, and the leather of his harness, voice a little firmer when he spoke again. 

_ Something else I can help you fellas with? _

Evidently there hadn’t been. They’d mumbled something in response and wandered off, Jesse relaxing again, his grip on Hanzo’s collar and harness easing. He picked up his conversation with Lena without missing a beat, scoffing at something before falling back into the usual flow of things. Aoi and Ruri let out contended rumbles under his skin, happy as always to be the center of Jesse’s attention. Hanzo gripped the back of Jesse’s shirt in his fists, rubbed his face drowsily against the worn flannel. 

He’d stay there all night if he could, but his knees ached now and again, and Hanzo had to stretch them. He sat back on his heels, blinking slow as he rolled his shoulders, tilting his head to each side until his neck popped. Jesse ran his palm over Hanzo’s tattoos, up the curve of his throat, scratching through his beard.

“Takin’ a walk, dollface?” 

Hanzo nodded as he got to his feet, drawing his shoulders back as far as he could, muscles protesting. He’d circle the club sometimes, watching some of the impromptu scenes, or stop by the bar for a bottle of water. They’d probably be calling it a night before too long and heading home to do a scene of their own. Nothing elaborate— not so late, not when Hanzo had spent most of the evening on his knees already— but having Hanzo so openly belong to him always riled Jesse up in the best ways.

Hanzo picked a circuitous path through the different pieces of dungeon furniture and groups of observers. He’d been led through them enough times, spacey and distant, that he could navigate them with his eyes closed if he wanted. There was a fire-cupping demonstration happening on stage. A Dom was meticulously roping a nervous looking sub at one of the stations— their knots were nice enough, but their lines were a bit sloppy. 

Or Hanzo was a snob and Jesse had him spoiled.

He slipped in and out of the restroom quickly, ready to find Jesse and see if he wanted to take off. The club was fine, and Hanzo had gotten better at being social, but there was only so much he could take when Jesse kept looking at him like he wanted to swallow him whole.

He’d only taken a few steps into the main part of the club when someone blocked his path. Two someones, Doms by the look of the bracelets they were wearing, rubbery red bands given out by Overwatch circling their wrists. Subs wore blue, switches purple. Hanzo didn’t have a bracelet.

Hanzo had a collar, and Jesse.

The Doms were taller than him but not quite as tall as Jesse, both of them in elaborate leather gear. Jackets over harnesses, boots and gloves. They were muscled, relatively attractive, intense looks in their eyes. The two of them stared at Hanzo like Jesse often did, but with all of the hunger and none of the warmth.

They’d be intimidating except Hanzo had spent most of his life surrounded by yakuza and drug lords and assassins. He’d only ever been intimidated by one person, and Sojiro was in the ground, now. There was no one left alive who could give him pause, and certainly not these two— posturing to make themselves look bigger, leather and chains head to toe. Dressing Dom, instead of being Dom, as Jesse liked to say. There was nothing wrong with some quality gear, but without the experience to back it up it was just a costume.

Hanzo frowned, not making eye contact as he tried to edge past them, turning sideways to give himself room.

“Excuse me.” 

They were definitely in breach of Overwatch’s etiquette; respecting personal space was something everyone was very good about, but events could be unpredictable. People were allowed in with less vetting, less community education. Usually it was no big deal; Reinhardt might have a serious conversation with an overly enthusiastic Dom or two. Moira might chase some unwelcome men out of one of the women-only rooms in the back.

Even so they usually weren’t so blatant about it. Hanzo would point them out to Rein on his way out, make sure he kept an eye on them. 

One of them grabbed Hanzo’s arm as he tried to move past them, the other blocking his way again, running a gloved palm down his bicep.

“Easy there, beautiful. Just wanted to talk for a second. There’s no hurry, is there?”

Hanzo took a step backwards, trying to shake off their touch, but they followed after him.

“I’m here with someone,” Hanzo said, glaring at their hands where they had settled on his forearm, on his bicep. “Let go of me.” He didn’t want to draw attention to himself if he could help it. Didn’t want to make a scene, not when everyone was enjoying themselves. 

Aoi and Ruri had no such concerns. They surged up in him, and it was an effort to keep his eyes from flashing blue, to keep his teeth from sharpening in his mouth. 

“Hey, whoa, hold on.” One of them started rubbing his thumb in circles just above the bend in Hanzo’s elbow. Something Jesse did, sometimes. Hanzo bit back a snarl. “Your boy in there didn’t want to hear us out, but we thought you might, yeah? Pretty thing like you, there’s enough to go around, right?”

All Hanzo could think for a moment was that Jesse wasn’t anyone’s  _ boy,  _ which was as far as he got before the first one spoke up again, dropping his hand from Hanzo’s forearm to squeeze his hip.

“No manners. Everyone knows it’s polite to share.”

This close Hanzo could smell liquor on them, the sharp bite of cheap vodka. Too much cologne. Stale cigarettes.

“Get your hands off me. _ ” _

One of them touched Hanzo’s face, running a finger over his bottom lip, nudging roughly at his piercing. 

“We just got our hands on you, sweetheart. Don’t be like that.”

Hanzo wasn’t this man’s sweetheart.

The other Dom let his hand drop further, sliding it down from Hanzo’s hip with a familiarity that made his stomach churn, like he was about to grab his ass through his jeans. For an instant that dragged on for ages, Hanzo was two separate people.

Hanzo was in Japan, hands on his skin,  _ easy, Hanzo, don’t make things difficult.  _ Hanzo was a weapon. A tool. An object to be used by his family and his clan, however they saw fit. 

Hanzo was obedient, and docile, and the comfort of drifting miles away where nothing hurt was a dangerous thing; somewhere it was easy to get lost. Someplace he hadn’t been in a while.

Then something animal and furious reared up in him, because Hanzo wasn’t those things anymore. No one could put their hands on him and do as they pleased.

Hanzo was  _ Jesse’s,  _ now.

It happened fast. Fast enough that Hanzo didn’t realize what he was doing until it was already done. All the hours he spent in the dojo were one thing; sanitized, and formal, and exact. As real as anything could be with no actual danger. Hanzo respected it, but this was something else.

Something that had lain sleeping in him since the last time a Shimada assassin caught him off guard in an alley after he came to America. Something planted in Hanzo as a child, nurtured until it took root, embedding itself so deeply that there was no pulling it free. Something tattooed onto his skin, set with every broken bone, threaded into him with stitches. Beaten into him with fists.

A handful of seconds. 

A snapped wrist, a shattered jaw, a broken nose. A dislocated shoulder, a black eye. 

Hanzo shook their hands off in a flurry of agonizing strikes, and then they were on the ground, his boot pressed tight against one of their throats. There was blood on his knuckles, as well as a few stray drops splashed across his face. His chest heaved, but not from exertion.

It would be so easy to finish things. Snap their necks, or crush their windpipes. To put them down so they never got up again. Part of Hanzo was clamouring for him to do just that— an enemy left alive was a threat, and he couldn’t abide those. If someone came after him once, they’d come again, and again. For him, for Genji. Dead bodies didn’t seek vengeance.

Hanzo was safer with every corpse left in his wake.

His breathing was labored, and his eyes stung with the effort it took to keep the light from them. Hanzo clenched his hands into fists, pressing down harder until the Dom under his boot gurgled and grasped weakly at his ankle. The other one was curled into the fetal position clutching his nose with his good hand, the other hanging at a strange angle from his shoulder. 

Jesse’s hands on him were like fresh air when he’d been breathing smoke. He didn’t need to look to know it was him— Hanzo had the feel of them memorized. He knew Jesse’s touch like he knew himself. Like he knew Genji, or Aoi, or Ruri. 

Jesse stepped in close behind him, easing a hand down his bicep where the other Dom had touched him uninvited. Rubbing at the same place on his elbow, like he was wiping it away.

“You alright, sweetheart?” Jesse asked, touching Hanzo gently, his other arm curling around his waist. Sweetheart. Hanzo blinked a few times and nodded. It felt like he was coming up from underwater; subspace but colder. Further away. “Wanna maybe take a step back? Not that they didn’t earn every bit of this, but I think you got the point across.”

Jesse sounded calm, but there was an undercurrent of something else Hanzo couldn’t entirely parse. Worry, or uncertainty. It took a few moments to process what Jesse was saying, but then Hanzo blinked again and stepped back. Jesse slid his arm up around his shoulders instead, glancing around at the crowd that had gathered a few feet away. 

The Dom Hanzo had been pinning down was coughing, dry heaving like he might be sick. The other had rolled up to a sitting position and was pressing gingerly at his broken nose, brows furrowed as he glared at Hanzo.

“What the FUCK was that for? You goddamn cocktease. Coulda just said no!”

Hanzo felt Jesse bristle next to him, body tensed like he was about to take a step forward. He laid a palm over Jesse’s chest, holding him back, and Jesse looked at him in amused disbelief. Opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but someone else beat him to it.

“He did say no,” a voice piped up from nearby, Ana appearing out of nowhere. “Heard him myself.” Hanzo cocked an eyebrow at her; Ana had been nowhere near them, he was sure, but he didn’t contradict her. It was true even if she had no way of knowing. She just smiled, laying her palm on Reinhardt’s bicep without looking as he appeared next to her with a murderous expression on his face. 

“Darling would you escort these two gentleman outside before they cause any more trouble? Unless Hanzo wants to press charges, in which case I can call the police and pull the security tapes.” Hanzo was horrified until he caught the smirk on Ana’s face, one corner of her mouth quirked up in a grin. He leaned harder against Jesse and shook his head.

“No that ah… that won’t be necessary.”

“Long as they don’t come back here,” Jesse added, squeezing Hanzo’s shoulder as he pinned the two of them with his stare.

The one who was capable of speech had already started to argue,  _ what do you mean HIM press charges, he broke my fucking nose! My arm too, probably! If anyone is pressing charges it’s us,  _ but then Reinhardt was tugging him to his feet by his useless arm, and his words cut off with a hiss.

“You and Jesse can head home, we will take care of things here. I apologize for this. We try to keep out the garbage but well… sometimes it slips through.” 

Jesse shrugged and squeezed Hanzo tighter.

“Ain’t your fault. There’s always gonna be troublemakers.” 

Ana patted Jesse on the arm and gave Hanzo a nod, motioning one of her employees over with a wave. They came over with towels and disinfectant, some kind of hard light sanitizing unit in hand. There were drops of blood scattered over the floor, lit up vivid purple when the lights flashed just right. 

Jesse lifted a hand to Hanzo’s face and eased it higher, thumb on his bottom lip rubbing gently over the ring.

“You ready to go home, baby?” Hanzo had been ready to go home ten minutes ago. He nodded, and Jesse returned it, pressing an absent kiss to his temple. “Let’s go get your jacket, then.”

-

The ride was quiet for the most part; Jesse had learned when to give Hanzo space. When to give him silence, and let him fill it himself. Sometimes he needed to coax the words out of Hanzo, but sometimes it was better to let him get there on his own.

They were almost home when Hanzo spoke up, voice soft as he stared at his hands in his lap.

“I’m sorry,” he said, wincing afterwards like it tasted wrong. “No, I know, I’m not— not sorry about what I did, I’m just.” Hanzo clenched his hands into fists. Jesse could see where his knuckles were busted on the right side, cut open on the sharp planes of one of those Doms faces. “I should have stopped them sooner. I told them I was with you.” He sounded more bewildered than anything else, like he couldn’t fathom that they’d known he was taken and tried their luck anyway. 

Like being Jesse’s made him untouchable, somehow.

“You didn’t do nothin’ wrong, Hanzo. And it doesn’t matter if you were with me or not, they ain’t got the right to go putting their hands on you without asking either way.” Something complicated passed over Hanzo’s face, and Jesse leaned forward in his seat, only half paying attention to the road. “Baby, you know that, yeah? You don’t need to be wearing my collar or anyone else’s for people to be decent human beings. You deserve to be treated right all on your own.”

“I know,” Hanzo said softly, eyes thrumming with the barest hints of blue.

Jesse wasn’t sure he did, but he didn’t press. He took Hanzo’s hand, and laced their fingers together, and let the quiet fill the space between them the rest of the way home.

-

Home was on the edge of the suburbs, a little blue clapboard house nestled in thick, old oak trees. It was close enough to the temple that Hanzo could walk there if he wanted, cozy but not stifling with a covered back porch where Hanzo liked to sit and draw. A drafting table sat in the spare room, the windowsill full of potted succulents, a couch stretching across one wall where Jesse often fell asleep watching Hanzo work. There were sketchbooks and pencils and pens scattered everywhere; guitar picks and books and origami animals. 

Little pieces of Hanzo and Jesse, tangled up and indecipherable to the untrained eye. What was his, what was Hanzo’s. Their clothes hung on opposite sides of the closet. Jesse’s disused cowboy hats sat high on a shelf in their bedroom, and Hanzo’s eyeliner rattled around in the bathroom drawer every time he opened it. Not his house, or Hanzo’s, but theirs.

Jesse wasn’t sure how he’d lived any other way.

When they got inside Hanzo made a beeline to the bathroom and came out with his face and hands washed clean of the blood that had been clinging to them. He’d wiped his makeup off, eyes faintly red from scrubbing. He paused a few feet away from Jesse, hesitating to close the distance for a moment before taking the last few steps. Jesse reached out and cupped his cheek. It was easier to breathe when Hanzo leaned into it, lids dropping as some of the tension left his muscles.

“What do you need, love? We can go to sleep if you want, or I can sit with you on the porch for a while. Shower, maybe.” Jesse didn’t really think Hanzo wanted any of those things, or at least not yet, but after what had happened it felt better to make him ask. Make Hanzo tell him what he needed, as explicitly as he could. Hanzo could do that, now.

Ask him for things.

Hanzo started to drop to his knees in answer; Jesse caught him by the elbow instead and kept him upright.

“You go get whatever you like outta the box and kneel on the bed for me. I’m gonna go wash up and I’ll be right there.”

Hanzo touched Jesse’s hand on his elbow briefly before disappearing into the bedroom. Jesse listened to the box they kept their ropes and cuffs and various leather and fabric pieces in creak open, Hanzo rustling around inside as Jesse made his way to the bathroom in the hallway to wash his hands. He took his time, splashing water on his face and kicking his boots off to give Hanzo a chance to settle into place.

When Jesse got into the bedroom Hanzo was kneeling on the bed in nothing but his collar and harness, a single strip of black silk laid out across the blankets in front of him. Jesse wasn’t surprised.

No ropes meant Hanzo wanted to touch him, and after the night they’d had, Jesse couldn’t blame him.

The gag meant something else entirely, and Jesse didn’t mind letting him have it, but not quite yet. 

“Good boy,” Jesse said, working the buttons of his flannel open and throwing it into their hamper along with his undershirt. 

He unfastened his belt buckle and pulled his belt free, tossing it on the chair in the corner before stepping out of his boxers and jeans. Hanzo had been watching him undress for a couple of years already, but the intensity of it never faded. Jesse could feel him staring, now just like the first time. He shifted in place a little when Jesse sat down on the bed in front of him— his seiza got sloppy when he was tired nowadays, toes overlapping, hands out of place. Jesse didn’t need to look to know this was one of those nights, and fondness welled warm in his chest, and spilled over.

Hanzo didn’t need to be perfect for Jesse anymore. It had always been true, but now he’d learned it. Now he believed it. 

Jesse reached up and untied the ribbon in Hanzo’s hair, tossing it onto the nightstand and scratching his fingers through the strands.

“I’ll put this on you in a sec, but I need to say a few things first. Alright?” Hanzo nodded, and Jesse let his hand drop. “Now you didn’t do a goddamn thing wrong. Let’s get that outta the way first. Some piece of shit touches you and ain’t listening when you tell ‘em not to, you got every right to put them on their ass, okay? I ain’t upset about that. But you scared the shit outta me tonight, Hanzo.”

Hanzo drew back a little, brows pulled together and eyes clouding with anxiety. 

“I wasn’t— I wouldn’t have killed them.” He didn’t sound entirely sure. It was the voice Hanzo used when he was trying to convince himself of something, to make it true through sheer force of will. “I didn’t mean to do… as much as I did, but then they were on the ground and… it was already done.”

Jesse laid a hand over Hanzo’s where it rested on his thigh.

“If you need to kill somebody it’d certainly be easier for everyone if you did it somewhere more private, but that isn’t what I meant. I saw you come out of the back hall, I was watching the whole time. Pissed me the fuck off when they cornered you, but I figured you had it handled at first. Was gonna find Rein after you came back and see about kicking ‘em out, case they started in on someone else, but you can tell a couple Doms to fuck off just fine on your own.” 

Jesse paused, and Hanzo nodded in agreement, waiting. He’d done it before. He’d have to do it again, Jesse was sure. Hanzo was capable of dealing with unwanted advances without Jesse hovering behind him and it’d be an insult to imply otherwise.

“Then they started really putting their hands on you and I got up to head over, mostly ‘cause I wanted to carry their asses out the door myself at that point. Still, I thought everything was fine. You seemed fine. Seemed calm, like it was nothing, and then you just  _ weren’t.  _ They pushed you too far, and you reacted— and you weren’t outta line, okay, they earned every bit of what you gave them. But I been fighting people my whole damn life, and you gave zero indication you were about to explode. One second you seemed alright, like they weren’t nothing more than an annoyance, and the next you had them on the ground under your boot.”

Hanzo got a look on his face that made Jesse’s skin crawl. It had been a while since he’d seen it; like there was a single correct response for the things Jesse was saying, but Hanzo didn’t know what it was. Like he’d fucked up without realizing and was desperate to figure out how to do damage control. 

Something left over from his family that they’d mostly moved past— a gift from his father, even dead in the dirt. 

Jesse wished he could give it right back.

Adrenaline was good at rushing in to get a job done, then rushing out to leave someone emptier than before, shaky on ground that should have been steady.

“Baby, no, hey. Stop.” Jesse squeezed Hanzo’s hand tighter, and Hanzo took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Nodded even though Jesse hadn’t asked him anything, and some of the shadows cleared out of his eyes. “I don’t care that you wiped the floor with those assholes, alright? I don’t. But I didn’t know they’d pushed you too far until you snapped, and it scares me to think that I could do the same thing. That I  _ have  _ done the same thing, and not even realized until after.”

It hadn’t happened a lot— a handful of times— but Jesse felt sick to his stomach without fail. They’d be in the middle of a scene, something intense, and Hanzo would just… drift away. Not the haze of subspace, but something colder. Something distant. He wouldn’t answer when Jesse spoke to him, wouldn’t react when he touched him other than a pliancy that made Jesse terrified; Hanzo moving like a ragdoll, a thousand miles away, letting Jesse move him where he liked.

Dissociation, Jesse had learned. Pieced together. He knew enough about PTSD and trauma to figure things out, but it had been so unexpected at first that it hadn’t even occurred to him. 

Hanzo looked angry then, eyes strobing blue and tattoos thrumming with light.

“It’s NOT the same thing. You’re not like that, you’ve  _ never  _ done anything like that. I know I… I drift too far sometimes, and I don’t enjoy it either, but it’s nothing you did. It’s not your fault.”

It wasn’t Jesse’s fault he drifted— dissociated— but it was hard not to feel responsible when he didn’t catch it fast enough to try and bring Hanzo back into the moment.

Hard not to feel responsible when he was supposed to be able to read Hanzo better than that, especially after all this time. He’d been in a gang, been a soldier, been a Dom for years and years. 

Been  _ Hanzo’s  _ Dom for some of those. 

Jesse was good at picking up subtlety, interpreting tells people didn’t realize they had, anticipating their wordless intent. 

Then Hanzo came along and all of that was less than useless. Jesse had gotten better at it— he’d learned some of the intricacies of Hanzo’s reactions, the language he spoke in quiet gestures and sharp intakes of breath. In a scene, anyway. 

In a fight, it seemed he was less fluent than he’d thought.

He’d sparred with Hanzo dozens of times, but it felt more like dancing than violence. Fighting Hanzo was a flirtation, however rough things got sometimes. Hanzo was volatile under his hands, fast and expert and overwhelming. This had been something different.

This had been Hanzo breaking someone with a ferocity that left Jesse breathless.

Breathless, among other things.

Jesse slid his hand up Hanzo’s arm, palm lingering over his tattoos. They warmed under his touch, a soft glow following his fingers. Jesse couldn’t help but smile.

“I know it isn’t my fault. Isn’t your fault, either. I guess I just need to hear you say it again. That you’ll stop me if something’s too much. I don’t wanna ever be the one pushing you till you snap, baby, cause you don’t explode on me. You just get lost.”

It wasn’t Jesse’s fault that Hanzo had been shaped into a weapon to be wielded and used but not heard. Something made to gut without feeling. 

A blade no one bothered to oil.

It wasn’t Hanzo’s fault that Jesse needed to control everything, either. To keep Hanzo safe from himself, and the world, and anything else that might do him harm. It  _ wasn’t  _ his job; Jesse was still learning that.

Hanzo was still teaching him.

“I do tell you,” Hanzo said, leaning into Jesse’s hand on his bicep, eyes strobing dark again. “I have. I will. I promise, Jesse.”

Jesse leaned in and kissed him, open-mouthed and eager. Hanzo pressed into it, palm sliding up Jesse’s side, fingers tracing absently over one of his scars. When he pulled back Hanzo let him, eyes searching Jesse’s face for a moment, but whatever he saw there had him smiling. A small thing; quiet but not tentative.

Just for Jesse.

“Alright then, now that we got that outta the way,” Jesse said, picking up the strip of silk that served as Hanzo’s favorite gag. He could bite down on it without hurting his jaw, and the fabric was soft enough that he could wear it for hours without the corners of his mouth getting too irritated. Jesse lifted it up between them and cocked a brow. “You good?” 

“Yes. Please.”

Jesse took both ends of the fabric, slipping it into place when Hanzo opened his mouth. He tugged Hanzo’s hair out of the way and knotted it on the side of his head, just beneath his ear. Hanzo tended to thrash; cloth gags stayed put better that way. Blindfolds, too. Once it was snug in place Jesse laid both palms on his sides and crowded Hanzo down onto the bed.

Hanzo spread his legs to make room for Jesse, and he slid one hand up to cup Hanzo’s jaw. Slid one down to rub at his thigh, trailing his nose through Hanzo’s beard.

“Now that you’re gonna be quiet for me and listen, I can tell you the rest, yeah?” Hanzo exhaled rough, and Jesse let go of his face to rifle through the nightstand without looking, mouthing his way down Hanzo’s throat. “Yeah, I can. I can tell you how fucking  _ good  _ you looked putting those assholes where they belonged.” 

Jesse found what he was looking for in the drawer and pulled it out, popping the cap of the lubricant open and pouring some messily into his palm. He set it down and brought his hand up between Hanzo’s thighs, rubbing warm slick fingers against him. Hanzo rocked his hips down into the pressure, arms sliding around Jesse’s neck, hands tangled in his hair. 

“I can tell you how  _ gorgeous  _ you were, breaking ‘em like they were nothing. Four seconds, darlin’. It took you four seconds. Scared me a little but god, I was hard, baby.” Jesse ground his cock against Hanzo’s thigh as he slipped his fingers in, pressing in slow all the way to the knuckle. “Wearing my collar and the harness I dressed you in, so fucking strong. You’re always so goddamn pretty, Hanzo. Looked so goddamn pretty tearing them to pieces.”

Hanzo whined around the gag, forced to swallow all his arguments— to take what Jesse gave him, whether it was words or his hands or every fucking inch of him. There was no protesting when he couldn’t speak, no obligation to say no,  _ you’re wrong, I’m not, it was nothing.  _

Hanzo could let himself be gorgeous like this, strong and perfect and goddamn pretty.

Hanzo could be anything Jesse said he was, mouth full of silk and hands in Jesse’s hair.

Jesse worked his fingers in Hanzo, sucking bruises into the curve of his shoulder, free hand sliding over his skin.

“Just look at you. Thought they could touch you. Thought they had the right… they shoulda known better. Threw those hands and put ‘em down and all I could think was that’s _ right,” _ Jesse said, twisting his fingers in a way that had Hanzo shaking, “that’s my fucking  _ baby.” _

Hanzo writhed. Jesse slipped his fingers out and took himself in hand, slicking his cock up before nudging his crown against Hanzo and pushing into him slow. Hanzo threw his head back, chest heaving as he whimpered through silk, nails digging into Jesse’s biceps.

“My good fucking boy,” Jesse hissed as he buried himself in Hanzo, easing his arms under Hanzo’s, hands curling around his shoulders from behind to hold him in place.

Jesse pulled out and ground into him again, hard enough to have him slipping across the blankets. He dug his fingers in harder, keeping Hanzo in place as he fucked him in earnest. Sometimes Jesse liked to take things slow, liked to tear Hanzo down little by little— a low flame he stoked higher until Hanzo was boiling alive. Not tonight.

Hanzo had been breathtaking in the lights of the club, muscles flexing under his harness as he snapped bone. Blood on his knuckles, fire in his eyes.

Just Jesse’s. No one else.

Jesse jerked Hanzo down onto him and rolled his hips forward and listened to Hanzo mewl helplessly into his gag. He clawed at Jesse’s back, deep enough to have him hissing; he’d feel guilty about it later, apologize as he rubbed biotic ointment over the bright red scratches he left, but Jesse knew in that moment he didn’t even notice. Just trying to get closer.

Trying to hold on while Jesse fucked him apart. 

“You take me so good, Hanzo. Fucking  _ beautiful.”  _ Hanzo shook underneath him, cock pulsing wet between as he came, shuddering through it like it hurt. Jesse glanced down, running his palm through the mess with an adoring smile as Hanzo’s stomach twitched beneath his fingers. “Oh, sweetness. I love you.”

He pulled out of Hanzo and manhandled him onto his knees, facedown on the mattress for a moment before gripping the back of Hanzo’s harness in his fist and tugging him upright. Jesse took his cock in his other hand and slid into Hanzo again, watching him shake, reaching back to grab at Jesse’s arm and steady himself. Once Jesse was sunk deep, skin on skin, he grabbed Hanzo’s hip and squeezed. 

“Good?” Hanzo whined and nodded, other hand moving to cling to Jesse’s forearm, shoulders bowed under the strain.

Jesse snapped his hips forward, using his grip on Hanzo’s harness, pulling him down onto his cock with every thrust. Hanzo made breathy punched out little noises, his whole body jerking in time with Jesse’s movements, head lolling forward on his shoulders. He slid his palm down Jesse’s forearm, settling over his hand and lacing their fingers together. 

Hanzo whimpered into his gag when Jesse moved just right, hair falling down around his face, fingers trembling against Jesse’s bicep. Losing grip, sliding, clutching at him again. He was always beautiful, but especially like this— shivery and overwhelmed, pliant in Jesse’s grasp. 

Taking what Jesse gave him with an eagerness that Hanzo had learned on his knees. Learned from Jesse. They took turns teaching; giving, and taking.

God, Hanzo owned Jesse all the way down to his  _ bones. _

Jesse came hard, buried in Hanzo and gasping for breath, both of them trembling all over. He let Hanzo drop down onto the bed, collapsing on top of him afterwards. They breathed together for a while, then Jesse unfastened the buckle on Hanzo’s harness and coaxed him onto his back. Hanzo lifted his arms almost drunkenly as Jesse eased the harness off him, following suit with his collar, kissing his throat where it had been sitting. 

He set the collar gingerly on the nightstand then worked the knot on Hanzo’s gag free, dropping it and the harness onto the floor. Tomorrow Jesse would clean the leather, condition it; care for it and let it dry before packing it carefully away. Hand wash the silk, check Hanzo’s collar for any stray smears of lubricant.

Right then he trailed messy kisses up Hanzo’s throat, lingering in one particularly ticklish spot until Hanzo laughed and shoved at his face. 

_ “Stop.” _

Jesse did, brushing Hanzo’s hair behind his ears and bringing their mouths together instead. When he pulled back Hanzo’s eyes were half closed, lids heavy with sleep, and Jesse grinned.

“We gotta go wash up, honey.” Hanzo shook his head and made a noise of disagreement, and Jesse laughed. “Girls’ll keep you up if you try and keep ‘em in all night and you know it.” Hanzo made another noise, drawn out and laced with irritation. Then he shoved at Jesse, pushing him towards the edge of the bed. “Alright, easy, hold your horses. Spoiled.”

Jesse came back with a couple of wet washcloths and wiped up the mess he’d made of Hanzo, tossing them into the hamper and digging a pair of underwear out for them both. He tugged his own on, watched Hanzo pull his up with his eyes closed. Clumsy fingers, slow breaths. 

He was already mostly asleep by the time Aoi and Ruri shimmered out of his tattoos, snuggling up to Hanzo where he was curled up against Jesse’s chest. 

“Night baby. Love you.”

“Mmmngh. You too,” Hanzo mumbled, face tucked into Ruri’s frills as he petted drowsily over Aoi’s back.

Hanzo in his arms, his dragons in their bed. His collar on the nightstand. 

His name on Jesse’s skin.

Jesse wasn’t sure how he lived any other way.

He kissed Hanzo under his ear, squeezed him tight, and closed his eyes.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Tell me nice things <3


End file.
